


You’ll never be the same, baby boy

by Neverwaswise



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Fluff this is now almost entirely fluff, Karen ships them, M/M, Peter is twenty two, Tacos, hanging out for world peace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 09:36:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14210277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverwaswise/pseuds/Neverwaswise
Summary: Spiderman and Deadpool haven’t  interacted much beyond the occasional team up. Peter wouldn’t call them friends. But when circumstances push them together outside of the chaos of crime fighting, perhaps that will change? Is there more to the mercenary than murder and crazy?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I write this because I have read so much spideypool fic, and then reread, and I needed more! 
> 
> More chapters will be posted as I edit them.
> 
> Critiques are welcome and comments are craved!

 Peter woke up to an absentminded rendition of Hips Don’t Lie being sung somewhere close by and his lungs screaming at him as they tried to breath thick black smoke. His body jerked as he attempted to retch out the awful, sharp taste of fire and gasoline and desperately pull in a much needed breath of actual air at the same time. And as his arm attempted, in his panic, to push him off the ground, to find that air, to reach up and maybe pull his mask free of his mouth, pain. Pain like lightening. Like a scream flashing through his chest, down his arms, up his arms, into his chest. He didn’t know. Couldn’t find where it was coming from. For a moment his world was pain.

  
    Then his face was pressing back to cold concrete and gasping tiny, torturously smoke filled breathes. Putting every bit of his control into not coughing. Breathe.

  
     It didn’t work.

  
    The coughs were like gunshots through his body. Something was pressing down on his chest. Stabbing pain through him as his chest spawned around the filthy air. He reached back with his hands, panic overriding the pain in them. What was it? Move it. Get it off.

  Concrete. Cold immovable concrete.

  
    Suddenly Peter was fifteen and alone in a collapsed warehouse. Alone. Water dripping down all around him. Left to die.

  
    He could hear something. Like a dying dog. High pitched. Whining.

  
   A fit of smothering coughing blacked out his vision and he realized the sound had been him.  
Unable to call for help. Unable to breathe, Peter felt hot tears soaking the front of his mask.

  
   He was going to die here. Where was he? How did he get here?

  
     He didn’t know. And he was too busy suffocating under a rock in an impenetrable cloud of black smoke to possibly remember.

  
      His body thrashed on its own. Stone slashed open his chest and back through the Spiderman suit.  
And then a concussive wave of force pulsed through the air. Peter flinched away from it.

  
  And then the immovable concrete above him shifted.

  
    Something snapped in his chest and, somehow, somewhere, someone screamed.

———

     There was pain again. And more screaming. Quieter this time. But he pulled air into his lungs. And only coughed for a short time after that first breathe.  His whole body felt cold. And he could hear people speaking. Many voices. Far away.

  
    Something was on his face.

  
    He couldn’t move his arms.

  
    Panic shot through him as he remembered the cold, crushing weight of concrete. He was alone. Dying. Pinned like a bug.

  
    His eyes shot open.

  
    The smoke was gone. Replaced by a curving ceiling of metal and wires. A familiar ceiling. The quinjet?  
   

     Relief shot its tentative way through him, like relief set into a agar. Partially. Maybe a molasses of relief at warm temperature. He certainly felt warmer looking up at that ceiling. Now that he recognized it.

  
    He also recognized the screeching alarm filling his ears.  
The jet jolted. Hard. And tilted dramatically to his left. He blinked through the cracked lens of his mask as his head turned minutely and he caught sight of the top of Natasha’s head.

  
    She was talking quickly into the com in her ear. They were on their way somewhere. Someone was in trouble.

  
    “Hey there, Spidey!”

  
    And suddenly Peter’s vision was nothing but Deadpool’s head. His stomach churned at the shock of the sudden appearance.

  
   Deadpool settled down beside the bed Peter was on, kneeling with his head resting on his forearms that were crossed on the bed.

  
    “Fancy meeting you here!” Deadpool said, “You’re still looking a little squashed there, webhead. Like a tortilla. No! Enchiladas! You’re kinda oozing your insides but mostly still taco shaped. In a soggy way.”

  
    “‘M not soggy,” Peter mumbled through the oxygen mask.

  
    “Ah!” Deadpool gasped, “He’s talking this time. Obviously I’m going to keep him talking. To keep him awake, asswipe. I want to hug him. Can I hug him?.”

  
    Talking to the boxes. Peter needed to get some answers out of the Merc before he passed out again.

  
    “Deadpool. What happened?”

  
    “Got yourself another batch of hero injuries, baby boy. The doc is off getting his green on, if you know what I mean. But he hooked you up with this pretty face sucker and some of the good stuff and told me to make sure you didn’t move. But go ahead and try. Move your pinky for me, Spidey babe, and I promise to use my body as the best damn security blanket you’ll ever meet.”

  
    Before Peter could pull in a breath to say anything, Deadpool tilted his head and Peter could see him frown through his mask.

  
    “Broken ribs cannot stop true love. Our love gives me wings! Fuck yeah, I would levitate the hell out of a house. Fucking balloons are for geriatrics…I am mature as a damn fine wine!”

  
    “Deadpool!” Peter said, completely managing to put some force into his voice. Definitely. And it didn’t sound at all like a pained, exhausted whine. Because that would be humiliating.

  
    Deadpool crooned at that and scooted closer. Peter could smell smoke, gunpowder and explosions on the merc like an echo of that crushing place he was resolutely not thinking about. Panic rolled behind Peter’s eyes for a moment like some deep water creature roused from momentary sleep.

  
    But then he felt the warmth of the other man’s crossed arms brush against his own arm, through their suits, as Deadpool skootched closer to him, making noises like Peter’s demolished body was cuter than a sleeping puppy. But he could also smell human sweat and tacos now. And Peter was surprised to find that tiny contact, that barely there brush of his body against another’s, was comforting. Grounding.

  
   “Spidey? Hey? You there? Because if you die I’m going to unalive so many people and you can’t let me do that. Condoning unaliving by dying is so not your style, Spidey. No, he can’t. He has to heroically save people from monsters. Okay, yeah, and save monsters from monsters. I have no idea. Ask the hero.”

  
   But the hero was already falling under a blanket of warmth and dark and words that rattled by him like rain.

 

——-

  
  “Get him under control or I will!”

  
   “We don’t have time for this, Wilson!”

  
   “He’s fine! Banner stabilized him before he left.”

  
   “We need you on the ground right now!”

  
   “Not my fucking problem, Tin man. Deadpool out.”

  
   And then the interior of the quinjet was silent besides the sleepy rumble of the engines and the intermittent mumbling of the controls.

  
    Peter sank down into something between a trance and a doze. He let the warmth in his body soothe his mind into an easy blankness, barely registering when a certain mercenary began singing Work by Britney.

  
   Suddenly, a cold wind swirled over Peter’s skin and a heavy clank startled Peter out of his dose.

  
   Iron man was suddenly standing over Peter’s bed but completely ignoring him. Instead, he seemed to be yelling at someone sitting in the pilot’s chair.

  
   “Get us out of here, Wilson!”  
The world immediately tilted. Peter closed his eyes, choked down nausea as the drugs, the exhaustion, and the injuries protested the sudden movement.

  
   For a long time after that, Peter’s world was the scream of engines, the world spinning around them and, “We’ve only just beguuuuun…To liiiiiive…So many rooooads to choooose…”

 

——-

  
    A chaotic, scrambling end to a doomsday robot invasion later. And then a week and a half after that, Peter was slipping onto a Stark tower balcony, pulling his mask over his head with one hand and looking back into the empty suite behind him. It was two doors down from the room they’d set him up in to recover, and had been unlocked. Which Peter took to mean Jarvis was ok with him leaving even if Tony was still in traumatized and overprotective mode. Peter felt a little sorry for the freak out he was kicking off by leaving like this. He’d seen it before. But he’d left a note. And he’d been literally crawling up the walls for three days now. He was fine. All better. Going to lose his fucking mind if he didn’t get away.

   He was leaping off the side of the balcony before guilt could drive him back inside into another day of itching, crawling skin and jittering limbs, aching to just… move.  
 

   Like this.

   He breathed in the free city air as he spread his limbs and shot a web at a building across the street, turning his fall. He swept over the streets. Just feeling his body move. No direction in mind.

  
   He had aimlessly wandered for an hour when he landed on the side of a building, kicked off, arching into a backflip when something slammed into his side like a bus. No not like a bus. He’d been hit by a bus before. This felt more like being slammed into mid fall by a two hundred pounds of muscle, and an assortment of weapons.

    “- Like a wreeeeeacking ball!” Was screamed directly into his ear as he shot out a web, grabbed a handful of red and black leather and lurched them to a stop, mere feet above the pavement. People glanced up at them, and then kind of shrugged and kept walking.

   “Spidey!” Deadpool squealed, “My hero!”

   “I should have let you fall,” Peter said.

    “Oh, that’s already happened, baby boy. I’ve fallen for you and I can’t get up!”

    Peter watched Deadpool smack himself in the face with the back of one gloved hand and felt his irritation melt away.

    It had been a long, boring week and a half. He’d been enjoying his freedom, but he hadn’t seen the merc in that entire time, since they’d rolled his gurney off a Stark Industries vehicle and into the tower. And he’d heard what had happened during the robot attack. About the bomb. The building that had slumped over on him. Nowhere to go. Spidey sense or not.  
And how Deadpool had gone looking for him. Had found him. And then not left his side until he was in Stark tower. Well. The team had phrased it differently. Something. About rabid dogs with bones. And “tried to shoot me in the face for trying to toss him out of the plane”.

   Peter dropped Deadpool to the ground. The merc bounced lightly on his feet, jabbering happily about tacos, and Peter realized he wanted to thank him. For saving his life. He did not like closed spaces. That would have been a horrible way to die. Even now, the memory of the smoke and the inescapable crushing pain swirled at the back of his thoughts.

  
    He owed Deadpool. He owed him a lot.  
 

    Aunt May had been by the tower to see him several times. Pepper had used his biotech internship with Stark Industries, the focal point of the attack, as a simple cover story for the injuries. If it hadn’t been for Deadpool literally digging him out of his grave, Peter never would have hugged her again. Would have left her alone, no living family to comfort her the way she had comforted and supported him for years.

    He cleared his throat as it once again tightened at the pain of what could have been.

    “-could beat Sigorny Weaver in a spaghetti eatting contest! Because I fucking love spaghetti. That doesn’t matter! Ok, but you’re right. She would beat my ass and there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it. Glorious defeat. When you’re right, you’re right-“

    Peter cut him off, “Wanna grab tacos?”

   The panda mask whipped around to stare up at him.

    “Like I wanna grab your ass,” he replied.

    Peter groaned, “Nevermind.”

  
    “Aw come on, Spidey! It’s been a million years! And then we bump into each other? It’s fate! We gotta hang out!”

  
    “We didn’t bump into each other. You tackled me mid swing! We could have died!”

    “Pshaw,” Deadpool responded, swiping a hand through the air, “There’s angst in this fic, but only because tiny, trapped Tom Holland broke hearts and we’re all gluttons for more pain. You aren’t dying this time, baby boy.”

    Peter blinked down at the merc and then shook it off, before dropping to the sidewalk, “Oooook. Ok. Tacos.”

   “Ah, tacos!” Deadpool agreed, “I know a place. The fucking best tacos you can get without holding anyone hostage. You’re going to love them! You sure you’re old enough for ultra fucking spectacularly spicy hot sauce, Spidey.”

    “I’m an adult. And there is no age restriction on hot sauce.”

  
    “Says you! Have you ever given a baby hot sauce? And then their eyes water and they turn those eyes on you? The swimmy gaze of betrayal. Like a kitten in a tub. Only scum give babies hot sauce, Spidey.”

    And with that, Deadpool slung a warm muscular arm around Peter’s shoulders and spun him around. Then they were walking down the street toward tacos, Peter assumed.

  
    “Who would even wash a kitten?” Peter said, “Sounds dangerous. I’d take a fight with Rhino any day.”  
   

    “Right!? But Rhino’s not the real animal in your rogue gallery, baby boy. Oh Lizardman. Now that’s a cool bad guy, Spidey. Huge lizard in a lab coat. Terrifying because you never know if he’s going to rip out your liver with his teeth or whip out some kick ass science. Or rip out your liver and then use it for science.”

     The mention of Connors made Peter felt a twinge of worry for his friend. The doc’s condition was currently stable and he was living peacefully with his family but that could change any day.

     Peter was attempting to shake off the sudden sadness that topic triggered when he realized he’d walked most of a block with Deadpool’s arm around his shoulder. And he hadn’t even thought to shake it off.

  
   To be honest. The warm weight felt… good. Comforting. Grounding. He hadn’t had much time for physical contact in a while. Besides Aunt May’s hugs, most of the physical contact he had experienced in what felt like forever was some criminal trying to crush the life out of him. Not exactly what the usual starving young vigilante needed.

     So he let the arm remain, realized Deadpool smelled exactly the same as he had ten days ago in the quinjet. Fire, explosions, tacos. And the combination of smells should have brought back unpleasant memories. And they did, somewhat. But he realized he felt…ok.

     “You’re real quiet, baby boy,” Deadpool said with something remarkably similar to an inside voice. Peter’s ears were grateful.

    “I’m tired. Maybe,” Peter responded.

    “Oh that’s just perfect!” Deadpool suddenly squealed, coming to a dead stop and lifting his arm off of Peter’s shoulder to slap his hands to his cheeks, “Pajama party!”

    “Wait, what?” Peter heard himself say, but the mercenary was already grabbing his wrist and pulling him along at a brisk trot.

    “I gots the games. I got tunes. And you bet your ass I’ve got all the 90’s chick flicks our nostalgic little hearts could want!”

    “Wait, I’m not coming home with you, Deadpool,” Peter spat out with a tinge of panic.  
Deadpool’s hand was gone from his wrist in an instant.

    “Psh, of course not!” Deadpool said, “Creepy sex dungeons are probably not your thing. You swing pretty fine. That ass swings like nothing else, baby. But no one would expect you to swing that way. Speaking of which, I got a swing to swang. If you know what I mean. It’s been a blast from the past, webhead.”

   And as he spoke he wandered out into traffic, weaving between cars and narrowly missing death without ever seeming to actually realize the cars were there. A large yellow moving truck passed between the chattering merc and Peter standing on the sidewalk. And when it was gone, so was Deadpool.

     For several long minutes, Peter just stood there. What had just happened?

     He jumped up and stuck to a second floor balcony on the building behind him. No telltale flash of red. Not the slightest echo of that uniquely dynamic voice.  
Peter swung to the building on the other side of the street, but had no better luck. The madman had just left. Turned around and walked away.

    Peter sat on the roof of the building, looking down at the crowds passing by below.

    “But what about tacos,” he said.

    It took about twenty minutes for him to get too antsy to sit there anymore. But even as he swung over to a sandwich place he liked, spent more than he should on said sandwich, and headed out for the rest of his patrol, he kept looking for Deadpool among the people below.

     Because something was gnawing at him. It felt like worry. Anxiety. But not quite.

 

——

 

  
     It was about a month later before Peter saw Deadpool again. And this time, it wasn’t as Spiderman. He was browsing the front of a flower shop, looking for something purple for Aunt May.

    He’d gotten a bonus from his job at the Bugle. Kinda. Enough of a bonus to buy half a week’s groceries and something nice for his aunt. He was about four months late for her birthday but it still felt good to be able to do something for her. He knew he wasn’t the best nephew a woman like her deserved. But he would be giving her flowers today. Which was better than yesterday.

     He stood on the hot sidewalk, sun beating down on his thin T-shirt and jeans. There were a few people outside the shop with him, even more were inside to escape the summer heat. But he liked the heat, liked how he could feel it in his bones. It was just this side of spring now, but he’d had a hard time feeling warm lately. He hadn’t been sleeping well either. Illness hadn’t really touched him since the spider bite, but he was worrying now that he was getting sick.

     Stop worrying. Look at the damn flowers and pick something.

     He reached out for a grouping of lilies in purple and yellow, right before he heard it.

     “GORILLAS!!!”

     Peter was halfway turned to spot the zoo runaway, when the voice continued, “Oh yeeeaah, you and me baby making love like gorillas!”

     And then Peter’s eyes were locked on the bright figure in the crowd. He was easy to spot. Taller and broader than most. And, of course, bright red with those black panda eyes.

     Peter hadn’t ever met Deadpool as a civilian. There were a lot of things that were undeniably different outside of the suit. Midnight take out almost always tasted better in the suit. Beautiful men and women had an easier time flustering him when he was out of it. And apparently, when Peter was shopping for flowers in a T-shirt and jeans on a summer day, Deadpool traumatizing a group of bystanders with his singing made it really hard not to smile.

     For a madman, Deadpool did a pretty good job at telegraphing his moods. They’d worked together before, team ups that he may or may not have enjoyed more than he let on. And Deadpool left no doubt that he had enjoyed them.

     Seriously, a little less enjoyment on Deadpool’s part would have been very appreciated.

      He had seen Deadpool when he was dangerous. Knew what it looked like, what it sounded like. And he had also experienced Deadpool when he was feeling about as threatening as a hyperactive puppy trying to focus on chewing a slipper. And he’d also seen this current Deadpool. Happy and determined to stay that way.

     Peter knew Deadpool killed people for money. That at this very moment he was probably the most dangerous person on this street. But he also knew that Deadpool was somewhat different from the mercenary Peter had heard about when he’d first begun as Spiderman. Not quite as volatile or blood thirsty. Not quite.

      As far as Peter knew, Shield had lately figured out how good Deadpool was at his job and had been keeping the mercenary very busy. Of course, in that aspect Deadpool wasn’t much different from the Avengers who had plenty of kills under their collective belts.

    It was a complex blend of information that partnered with his unalarmed spider sense to relax the muscles in his shoulders. He kept his back to the street and listened to the mercenary sing his way down the sidewalk.

     “But I got a fistful if your hair…but you don’t look scared you’re just smiling tell me daddy it’s yours…”

      Once Deadpool was out of sight, Peter grabbed his flowers, paid and ducked into the alley. In moments he had his clothes in his bag, carefully providing a dubious barrier between the plastic wrapped flowers and the outside world. He slipped the mask over his head and scurried up the building, trying to spot Deadpool below. He had to make sure the mercenary stayed out of trouble. He hadn’t seen him in weeks, since the aborted taco invite. Why did he show up now? Had he just gotten back from a job? Or was he currently on one. A Shield job?

     But The mercenary didn’t do anything very interesting or sinister. He bought six hot dogs at a cart, flipped his mask up to his nose and ate them all in about one breath. Peter had seen this before. As eating seemed to be an integral part of their team ups. He could admit it was kinda gross. But they were usually both beyond hungry and Peter didn’t really have any ground to stand on in manners when he got really hungry.

     Peter sat up from his perch with interest when, a few blocks down from the hot dog cart, Deadpool turned into a narrow alley. He swung across the street and peered down into the dark space. Deadpool was gone.

     He jumped to the other end of the alley and looked in each direction. Nothing. Peter could see a few shady looking doors. Deadpool could have gone into any of them.

     But before he could consider his next move, something slithered around his neck.

    “Whatcha watching?” Deadpool stage whispered in his ear.  
Peter flipped. Literally and backwards. Over Deadpool’s head. Lashing out with one foot.

    Deadpool shot off the edge of the roof like a flipped pancake.

    “As… you… wi-“Deadpool said.  
Peter was suddenly at the ledge, feet braced to support the weight of a mercenary hanging from his webbing bare inches above the pavement. A few people froze at the mouth of the alley to take in the spectacle and then moved on.

     Through the pounding blood in his ears, Peter could hear Deadpool chattering excitedly to himself about yo-yos.

     Peter wondered how he had gotten himself into this situation as he sighed and began to pull Deadpool back onto the roof.

     The second Deadpool could clamber onto the roof, his massive biceps where clamped on either side of Peter’s head in what Peter’s spider sense thought was probably a hug instead of an attack. Peter was still in doubt as those pecs were not letting a lot of air into his lungs.

    “-nooooot. Of course he’s here as the inexorable conclusion to my stunning damsel skills! Yes that is a word. No I don’t know what it means.”

     Peter placed his hands to an alarmingly firm chest and pushed back, trying not to gasp desperately at the air he could finally get to.

     Deadpool twirled away, hands clasped under his chin, on leg bent back to point his toes at the sky.

     “It’s our lucky day! Hiya, Spidey!”

     “You shouldn’t sneak up on me,” Peter said, heart still pounding.

  
     Deadpool cooed and shuffled closer, “But startled Spidey is so cute. And feisty! It gets me all happy inside.”

     “You could have been hurt,” Peter said.

     “Uh, babe, you’ve seen me impaled on Octomom’s hentai tentacles. What’s got your hero guilt coming out? I would have been fine after a few minutes.”

      Peter frowned, “Doc Oc wouldn’t have hurt you if you had paid more attention to the fight than to my ass.”

       Deadpool waggled his arms in supplication, his hands cupped in the air, “But it’s just so…look, you are the only person who can resist its magnetism. Since it’s your ass. Or maybe you can’t since it’s stuck to you. What if-“

     “What are you doing back in New York?”

      “Ahah,” Deadpool replied, “Looking for you, snookums.”

     Peter crossed his arms over his chest and waited the other man out.

      Deadpool lasted half a second after that.

     “Furious Cyclops told me to lay low,” Deadpool said, “I finished a job for him but he said ‘You were supposed to protect the ambassador, not permanently scar him for life’ but I swear I never touched the guy!”

     “Did Fury mean physical scars or psychological?”

      Deadpool froze for one magical moment, like chaos suspended in glass. Then he laughed, a high, pleased sound.

      “Oh that would explain a few things,” the mercenary said.

       “Ok,” Peter said, “I don’t want to know. You’re leaving New York now.”

      “But spidey!”

       Peter startled back when he suddenly had a mass of red clad killer on his knees in front of him. Red leather gloves clutching at his hips. Peter cursed his spider sense. Why didn’t it ever warn him when Deadpool lunged at him like this?

      “I’m supposed to lay low! There’re people looking for me with a real hard on for my intestines on a stick. Which doesn’t really do it for me, if you can believe it.And this is the perfect way to do that! How could I possibly get into trouble when I’m teaming up with Spiderman?”  
 

      “Um, completely and often?” Peter reminded him. Surely the mercenary had some memory of their past team ups? Because Peter remembered a lot of trouble. A few explosions. Some damaged property, definitely. And in one memorable case, Venom infested dinosaurs. Staying out of trouble was not what they did. At all.

     But Peter knew he was going to give in. Like all of those times before.

     “Come on, baby boy. It’ll be fun. You. Me. A mountain of tacos. It’ll be very Loki.”

     “You mean low key,” Peter said.

     “Sure,” Deadpool agreed too quickly.

     Peter groaned and rubbed his hands across the front of his mask.

     “How long do you have to stay out of trouble?”

     Deadpool did a little hopping dance like a racing dog eager for the gates to lift, “Two days. One night. Like a Lord of the Rings marathon.”

     Peter eyed him, “I’m not staying with you for two days.”

     “Well not the entire two days,” he replied, “We can save that for the second date.”

      “This isn’t a date. This is adult babysitting,” Peter said.

      “Psh, if this were a hetero relationship, it would be the same thing.”

  
     Peter had to give him that one.

     “We are not in a relationship. Ok look, today and tomorrow I will help you lay low. I’ll leave tonight to sleep and then we’ll meet up again tomorrow. No crime fighting. No patrols. We’re keeping you out of trouble so my city can remain intact into next week.”

     “Yeah yah. Great plan, spidey,” Deadpool said, snaking that arm around his shoulders again, “Do you like pancakes?”

     “I…yes?”

     “Oh you bemused little sugar muffin,” Deadpool said, tucking Peter tight into his warm side, “I’m gonna show you a good time. Like three bazookas at a pool party fun.”  
 

    “Low key,” Peter reminded.

    Deadpool seemed to consider, “Alright, I could go for that. If he takes a shower first.”

    “We’re going to lay low,” Peter said, “I mean it.”

     “Tacos and video games, spidey. And movies. Oh purple assed gods so many movies. We’re going to be couch potato bros!”

     Peter sighed again, already wishing for the sweet embrace of sleep that would definitely not be happening any time soon.  

    Deadpool clambered happily onto Peter’s back without any invitation. And squeezed his sides with those powerful thighs.

    “Mush!”

    Following Deadpool’s directions to whatever nightmare apartment he kept, Peter remembered the flowers he had bought Aunt May. He tried not to get his hopes up that Deadpool’s place had a fridge.


	2. Chapter 2

   The building Deadpool led them to was not in a good part of town. It wasn’t in one of the worst parts like Peter had expected either. As they touched down on a rickety little balcony outside a fourth story window, Peter admitted the neighborhood wasn’t much worse than the one where he lived.

   Deadpool slid off his back and shuffled awkwardly around him to fiddle with the window. Peter could hear him mumbling, probably to the boxes, as he seemed to struggle with actually getting the window open. Peter was too braced for the horrors waiting for him inside to immediately notice what the issue was. And when it occurred to him he just stood there.

   Deadpool was nervous.

   Huh.

   “Hey Deadpool,” Peter said.

   The mercenary reached back and patted his thighs like he was a skittish horse, “Easy there, baby boy. You can call me Wade since we’re such good pals now. Just hang on to your spandex and I’ll get it open for you in a bit. Just you wait. This is going to be the best damn sleepover since that time Mysterio ties you to that table.”

   “Which time?” Peter asked without thinking.

   “Haha!” Deadpool cackled, straightening up and apparently forgetting about the window, “I forgot your sweet ass inspires more than just songs. So what, they take all the time to strap your unconsciously gorgeous ass to a table and never took the half second to unmask you?”

  Peter shifted uncomfortably, because they had, when they cared to. Though strangely enough, most of his villains were more interested in torture or feeding him to sharks than they were with his identity. A few had caught him and unmasked him though. And Peter had just barely managed to talk them into believing he was Peter Parker dressing as Spiderman. For all kinds of strange and embarrassing reasons. Basically most of his villains thought Peter was the guy to took pics of Spiderman and occasionally dressed up as him for kicks.

   “My ass is just that distracting,” Peter finally responded.

   “Fuck yes it is,” Deadpool said firmly, before turning back to the window. He had it open a few seconds later.

   “Welcome to the love nest of the sexiest merc this side of a meat grinder, Spidey,” Deadpool said as he disappeared into the dim interior.

   Peter took a moment to grab his courage by the collar as it almost had him bail on this plan with some lame excuse about forgotten to do lists. But the image of Deadpool striding into traffic to get away from him last time was flashing through his head. As was the feeling when he’d woken up in the quinjet, decidedly not dead with the mercenary hovering happily at his side. Deadpool wasn’t going to hurt him, Peter told himself firmly as he stared at the open window. The rest he could handle.

   Because he had a debt to repay.

   “What do you like on your pizza, baby boy?” Deadpool said once Peter finally slipped through the window. Peter took a moment to swivel his head around before answering.

   The apartment was… normal. Kinda. No blood splatters or bodies rolled up in carpets against the walls. Just pale carpet and taupe walls. A comfy looking dark couch and chair. A fair sized tv with game systems sitting on a bookshelf beside it. Golden girls poster. What looked like a parrot costume slumped in a corner gave him a moment’s pause.

   But he had to admit, the place was cleaner than his own apartment. A lot emptier too. And bigger. Past the couch, he could see a spacious little kitchen with a round little table and two chairs. There was a hallway to his left the he assumed led to a bedroom and restroom.

   Peter felt himself relax slightly. The place was so unexpectedly nonthreatening, it was looping back around to threatening again.

   “If you’re seeing dead people, Spidey, tell them Wade says ‘Fuck you’.”

   Peter jumped a little and blinked over at the merc, “What?”

   “Oh boy, we need to get greasy cheesy goodness in you stat, baby boy. And by that I mean pizza. Cheese or meat lovers.”

   “Meat lovers. With mushrooms,” Peter said, as his stomach growled.

   “Ok, awesome. Right on it,” Deadpool said and bounced over to the kitchen to pick up what looked like a plastic taco, but was hopefully a phone as Deadpool immediately started pushing at it like he was dialing.

   Peter wandered over to the bookshelf by the tv. There were some taco wrappers, a shelf full of movies and games and what looked like a marijuana plant, throughly dead and withered, sitting pitifully on the top shelf.

   Deadpool hopped over the couch and directly into Peter’s space, apparently done ordering the pizza.

   “So whatcha feeling? Mud and guns or rainbows and spaceships.”

   “Are you talking about video games or actual warfare and abductions,” Peter said.

   “Would you believe me if I said I could offer you either?”

   Peter laughed, “Ah yeah, I’ll go with the video games today, thanks.”

   Deadpool just stood there for a second, head tilted slightly to the left.

   Then, “Yes, I fucking know that was adorable. I was standing right here.”

   “Ah,” Peter said, “So which game has rainbow spaceships?”

   Deadpool startled a bit at that but then he was back on some kind of track, “Oh baby boy. Lovers in a Dangerous Space Time. We’re gonna save us some gay Jesus bunnies.”

   The game was a blast. Chaos and teamwork and they worked together as well as they did in real life. And Deadpool’s running commentary had Peter relaxing quickly. And suddenly he realized he was enjoying himself. That it had been way too long since he’d had someone to sit by and waste an afternoon with playing through a stupidly entertaining game. It felt…really good.

   So he let go of a bit more of his caution and just enjoyed it.

   Peter was shooting a giant space beetle full of lasers and smiling as Wade spun their ship expertly through a cluster of asteroids, explaining the pros and cons of space bugs to Peter in hilarious detail.

   “And if you have bugs as big as a space ship, you have those little tiny ones. And then when you go anywhere they’d get smeared on your windshield. And the everyone would have to install wipers on their spaceships.”

   “But shouldn’t they have them anyway? For when they land on a planet when it’s raining? Or snowing?”

   “Fuck, you beautiful bastard, you’re right,” Deadpool agreed, “This galaxy need space bugs apparently. For the space ecosystem.”

   “Then it also needs space flowers,” Peter said, running his character over to the ball and chain gun at the top of the ship as Deadpool ran them through a gauntlet of lasers.

   “Oh we got those, spidey. I can feel it in the force.”

   “Are they aligned with the light side or the dark?”

   “Space flowers? Those motherfuckers are neutral as Luke Skywalker. Fuck yeah they can use force lightening. And meditate better than Strange stoned.”

   “Wow, I know what I’m getting doctor Strange for Christmas. That sounds hilarious.”

   “Gasp! Spidey! My delicate ears can’t handle my hero admitting to drug use! It’s so naughty!”

   Peter snorted, “Weed is the most ridiculous drug to make illegal. And I don’t smoke it. But I could get it, no problem. And I know Strange is no stranger to substances.”

    “And how would you know this?”

    “The hero world is far stranger than you would believe.”

   “Oooooh,” Deadpool said with relish, dropping his controller and throwing himself across the couch, to drape himself all over Peter’s shoulders, “God damn that sounds like story time. And my body is soooo ready for it.”

   Peter laughed and half heartedly attempted to remove the mercenary from his person. But then the door bell rang.

   “I think that’s the pizza,” Peter prompted but Deadpool just wrapped around him tighter, like a hungry star fish.

   “One more minute, mommy,” Deadpool mumbled happily.

   Peter sighed and stood up, dumping the merc onto the floor.

   Peter was starving and he wanted that pizza. He poked Deadpool with a foot.

   “Hey. Pizza. Go get it.”

   “You go get it,” Deadpool pouted on the floor.

   “I don’t have any money,” Peter said, poking him again, “And you are the one who dragged me here. Pay me in pizza and entertainment for protecting your ass.”

    “Oh hell yeah,” Deadpool said, popping up onto his feet like a briefly clotheslined boxer, “Bossy spidey. Be still my undying and mutilated soul. That gets me in all my jiggly bits.”

   Peter grabbed those broad shoulders and pointedly turned him towards the door, “Pizza.”

   And surprisingly, Deadpool obeyed, singing, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me…”

   Peter sat down and stretched out on the couch, his feet in the spot where Deadpool had been sitting. And sighed. He’d been here all of thirty minutes and he was already more relaxed than he had been in weeks. It should worry him, he knew. But then the smell of pizza reached him and derailed that entire train of thought.

   He pulled his feet out of the way for Deadpool to sit down, making grabby hands at the pizza. Deadpool giggled and handed it over. Peter tore into the box and rolled his mask up to the bridge of his nose and took a gloriously delicious bite. He handed the box back to Deadpool as he ate.

   “Ah yesss,” he groaned around a maybe too big bite. The piece was halfway gone before he glanced up.

   Deadpool was staring, the pizza box forgotten in his hands.

   Peter chewed awkwardly at his mouthful, glancing around. This had happened a few times they’d eaten before in the past. It had made Peter blush furiously. Just like now. And he knew Deadpool knew he was blushing because Peter’s mask was rolled up.

   Finally Peter had to break the silence, “Um…Deadpool? You gonna eat?”

   Deadpool crumpled the edges of the box with his hands as he looked down at it in his lap, “Yum. Pizza. Delicious. I’m so hungry. For pizza.”

   Peter’s blush increased and he looked up at the ceiling as he took another bite of meat and greasy cheese. His face felt like it was glowing red. He mourned the easy feeling they’d been sharing before. And his enjoyment of Deadpool’s admiration was a painful reminder of how long it had been since MJ.

   The merc may be shaped like a wet dream of muscle. That was obvious to everyone. And Peter had seen the famed deformed skin whenever Deadpool ate with him. It hadn’t ever bothered him. But not being bothered by Deadpool’s appearance was an entirely different thing from…

    Wow, ok. Peter was about to excuse himself to the bathroom or some other awkwardly obvious way to break the silence when Deadpool beat him to it.

   “I gotta go take a dump, baby boy,” he said, climbing over the back of the couch, “If you wanna pick a movie, we can watch the shit out of it. I’ve got bananas. No. Shit. Popcorn. You eat popcorn with movies.”

   And mercifully that was the point when Deadpool disappeared behind a door, somewhere down the hall.

   Peter took another bite of his pizza and rethought this whole plan. Because holy shit was that actual sexual tension!? With Deadpool? What the hell? Okay. Breathe, Peter. Sometimes things get awkward with Deadpool. It’s just a thing. Happens to everyone. Nothing to worry about. They’ll watch a movie and eat pizza and it’ll be fine. And then he’ll go home. And do it all over again tomorrow.

   Peter took another bite and groaned. It was possible he should just leave right now, before Deadpool got back.

   He was still wrestling with the decision when he realized how long Deadpool had been gone.

   Peter shoved the crust of the pizza into his mouth and hopped over the couch.

   “Hey, Deadpool?” He called, “Wanna watch Zombieland?”

  The apartment just sat quietly and thought he was the most awkward idiot it had ever seen. Considering who’s apartment it was, that said a lot.

   “I like that movie a lot. Tallahassee is… funny. Hey, are you ok?”

   He was in the hallway now. Still no answer. There were three doors. Two on the left. One on the right.

   He rapped his knuckles on the right one.

   “Hey man. I, uh, if you need me to leave. Give you some space? I can do that. No problem.”

   He tried the door.

   It swung open without a problem. To what Peter assumed was Deadpool’s bedroom. A bare mattress was in the corner. No blanket or pillow in sight. There was a white dresser. A wide open closet. Filled with a couple Deadpool suits and… was that a French maid outfit?

   Peter took a step back and carefully closed the door to the bedroom.

   Peter opened the first door on the left. Closet. Full of guns. And grenades. Peter chose to close this door as well.

   Outside the last door, Peter leaned against the doorframe, “Look, Deadpool. I…I’m gonna head out. Thanks for the pizza.”

   Peter pushed off the door and headed back to the living room, rolling his mask back over his face. He glanced at the open pizza box on the couch. And he felt like shit.

   “This sucks,” he said as he slid the window open and slipped out.

   He was crawling up the side of the building when he spotted something to his left.

   It looked like a figure standing at the far edge of the roof of the building next to this one. Their arms were outstretched as they leaned forward. Like they were about to-

   “Oh no,” Peter breathed, already scrambling to jump up there. He hit the other rooftop with a heavy thud, scattering gravel in all directions. He hit the ground running.

   But no one was there.

   “No!” He shouted, staring at that bare bit of rooftop where a person stood just seconds ago.

   He reached the edge and looked down.

   A crumpled figure lay five stories below. Pathetic and broken and dead.

   Peter’s breathing was tight in his chest. He couldn’t get enough air. The pale hair spread out on the pavement, blood like ribbons staining the mouth and face of the person he used to kiss. He used to love so much it hurt.

   His tears stung his eyes in his suit and his body was shaking.

   He pulled himself over the edge of the roof, half crawling, half falling to the alley below. And when he got there, he had collected himself enough to realize it wasn’t Gwen down there. Gwen had died a long time ago. In a different place. He’d been to her grave just last month to talk about the building that had fallen on him.

   No this person wasn’t her. They were bigger. Taller. Dressed differently. Dressed in a familiar costume actually.

   Peter’s trembling legs slowly gave out from under him as he gasped under a strange mix of relief and sharp excruciating chest pain.

   It was Deadpool. The mercenary lay crumpled in a pathetic heap, blood oozing onto the pavement from his head. Peter knew Deadpool would heal. That he wouldn’t stay dead. But it didn’t help much with whatever was going on in Peter’s chest.

   “Ok,” Peter heard himself saying, “Ok.”

   And then he was standing up and walking. To the wall of Deadpool’s building and back. And to the wall again.

   Because he was waiting. And it was really hard when all he wanted to do was get far away from any of this.

   But he stayed in that alley as the light went pink and gold with the setting sun and the body on the ground slowly knitted itself back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for visiting chapter 2! Lemme know your thoughts, feels, and wonders in the comments section below :)


	3. Chapter 3

 

   The sun was completely beneath the horizon and the sky was a deep, flat purple with a squat blaze of orange in the west when Peter heard the body begin to shift.

  
   Peter was about ten feet off the ground, his feet stuck to the wall so he could crouch and lean back against the cool, water stained brick. And watch Deadpool first begin to breath and then to twitch, like a sleeping dog. Or like a body reconnecting it’s peripheral nerves to its brain.

   Peter stayed where he was. He knew he looked like a stupid gargoyle up here. But he fucking felt like something in him had turned to stone. Or like something had dropped away from inside of him. Sloughed out of his core. Left him cold.

   And pissed as hell.

   He listened as Deadpool groaned. A red gloved hand went up to the mask. Clutched at his head.

   Peter waited.

   “You fucking think?” Deadpool said. The sound of that voice was interesting. Peter hadn’t heard it like that before. Had trouble recognizing it was the merc’s. Because it sounded gray. Leeched of the life that usually burst through it with so much captivating color, like biting into a nectarine.

   It didn’t sound anything like that right now.

   “Yeah, I didn’t see any taller buildings nearby, did you?” Deadpool said in that dead voice.  
And then he just lay there. For long moments. Just breathing.

   And Peter felt his own anger drifting away from him with each of Deadpool’s breaths. He tried to hold onto it, but he mostly just wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. This day… he was just so done with this day.

   Then the red figure sat up out of the pool of his own blood with a pained growl.

   When he eventually stood, the silence around him had a pulse. It didn’t set off Peter’s spider sense, but everything about the mercenary’s posture was tense and coiled tight.

   When Peter saw someone walking like that on his patrols, he usually followed them.

   It usually led him to the trouble they were looking to find.

   Peter closed his eyes. Memories still flurrying behind them like silt disturbed by a thrown stone.  
He was so tired.

   “If you want someone to fight,” Peter said, “I’m right here.”

   Deadpool stopped and spun away from the mouth of the alley so fast, Peter could hear the swip of air. When he opened his eyes, he considered the two black barrels of Deadpool’s guns locked unerringly on the shadows where he perched.

   Then Peter dropped to the ground, heavy as a sack of gravel. Deadpool’s guns were back in their holsters before Peter’s feet touched the ground.

  
   They studied each other for a moment.

   “What do you want, Spidey. I’ve got places to be.”

   Peter nodded, “I’m sure. People don’t usually invite guests over when they have better things to do.”

  “My bad,” Deadpool said, anger sparking somewhere deep in that grey, winter voice, “I’ll add bad host to the bottom of the list of my flaws. There’s quite a few above it that are much worse. Maybe you heard about them. Theft. Murder. Torture. Insanity. The most fucking ugly face you’ve seen outside of a nightmare. So I’ll put it on the list but it won’t ever place on the list of things I give a single shit about. So…thanks. See you around, Spidey.”

   For a moment, Peter watched him turn and walk back towards the end of the alley.

   Then Deadpool lurched to a stop. Surprised, he looked down at the webs that were suddenly encasing his feet. And when he looked up, a very angry Spider-Man was suddenly in front of him, stepping in close with narrowed eyes.

   “You are a fucking idiot,” Spider-Man hissed, gripping a fistful of deadpool’s suit at the chest, “I have something for your list. Are you listening? And it had better go on both of those lists because it matters to me. And if I’m ever going to talk to you again, it had better fucking matter to you. Are you listening?”

   Deadpool’s hands were out at his sides, and he seemed to be having difficulty stringing words together.

   “Wha- You- what?”

   “I have seen things. Doing this. Being a ‘hero’, as you like to bring up so often. People have died. In horrible ways. People I cared for. People I wanted to… be around for the rest of my life. And they’re gone now. I had to watch all of them leave. Whether they wanted to or not. I know you’ve been through shit. But that doesn’t change the fact that so have I.”

   “Spidey-“ Deadpool began.

   “No! You are listening,” Peter snapped, “That is what you are doing right now. Got it?”

   The merc nodded once.

   “Now let me outline what I am seeing. Because I doubt you’re getting the same perspective. You see, there’s this guy. Funny, weird, and persistent are just a few of his traits. And he’s been following me around for years. Helping me on patrol some days. Or throwing a truck full of shit at the fan and somehow still pulling us through it with the criminals apprehended. I have no idea how he does it. But god help me, he’s someone I enjoy teaming up with. We survive a mission, a patrol, whatever, and then we get tacos. And we laugh. I swear I laugh so much more eating tacos with him than I do the rest of the week.”

   Peter can feel that anger pumping nice and strong now. His fist is shaking around its grip on Deadpool’s suit. Deadpool is just watching him, magically silent.

   “And whenever he finds me, he seems happy to be there, like he enjoys being around me. For a little while. But then I’ll say something. Or he’ll do something. And then he’ll run. Just bolt. Not explaining a thing. How am I supposed to take that?”

   Deadpool shifts a little there, makes a little noise like something’s hurting him, but Peter doesn’t stop.

   “And then today? This guy invites me to his house. Says he needs my help. Says it will be fun. Promises to show me a good time. I agree to help, because he’s helped me in the past. Because I’m a little curious about what he actually wants, because there is no way I believe he thinks I can keep him out of trouble. I mean me? Really?”

   “Spidey.”

   “Then we get there and are having a really good time. But then one awkward moment later he ditches me. And another awkward moment I’m climbing out his window, feeling like complete shit. Confused shit. And there he is. Jumping off a building to get away from how awful it was to hang out with me. Jumping off a building rather than talk to me. Or explain. Or ask me to leave because sometimes people change their mind. And then I’m just standing there and he’s… he’s- and it’s my fault. And I-“

   Sudden warmth wrapped around Peter as Deadpool pulled him in tight to his chest, pinning his fist full of costume between them. And only now can Peter feel the full body shaking his emotions are creating. Like he’d woken up in the middle of the night, to sweat soaked sheets and screams of the living and the dead still clinging to the inside of his skull.

   He dug his forehead into Deadpool’s chest and took in breath after shuddering breath.

   “Not your fault, baby boy,” Deadpool rumbled softly. Peter realized a hand was sweeping up and down his back. Warm and solid and so deeply comforting he wants to cry. Instead he pushes back, looks up at the mask.

   “No, no, you just… hurt yourself because, because I don’t know. I don’t want you to have to comfort me after that. I should be comforting you.”

   He could see Deadpool’s smile through the mask, but his voice was soft through the amusement when he replied, “Oh yes please. Comfort me as much as your guilty little hero heart needs, baby boy.”

   And Peter knew that should make him mad, that it belittled everything he was trying to say. Or should have. But it really didn’t feel that way. And then Peter realized he was laughing. He bumped his head against Deadpool’s chest and sighed, accepting the return of those warm arms.

   “I want to be your friend, Deadpool,” Peter said. The mercenary seemed to freeze at that, even though he hadn’t been moving before besides the movement of his hands. Peter misses it immediately. Feels his body snapping itself back into shaking cables of tension.

   “Everything you’ve said sounds like that’s the last thing you want to be doing,” Deadpool said.

   Peter frowned, “Then you weren’t listening. We can do the team ups again. We can hang out. But not if… I can’t do this if you…”  
Those hands begin rubbing at his back again.

   “I can’t worry something I do. Some everyday thing like eating pizza. I can’t worry it’s going to make you do this to yourself. I also know it’s your life. I just-“  
Peter suddenly shook free of those hands. What was he doing. It was Deadpool’s choice what he did with his body. And he was telling him he didn’t? They barely even knew each other. Peter was way out of line. And so fucking angry and his chest felt like it had been cored out and then filled with ice he couldn’t really breathe around. And he just wanted to sleep.

   “Here,” Peter said, grabbing Deadpool’s wrist and pulling a purple sharpie out of the pouch where he knew Deadpool kept them, “I need to go home and…sleep.”

   He began writing the number for what he thought of as his ‘patrol phone’ on the arm of Deadpool’s suit.

   “I get that I probably wouldn’t be your first choice, but if you need to talk. Call. Text. Whatever. You can reach me here.”

   Deadpool was just staring at him. And Peter suddenly wished they weren’t having this conversation behind masks. Wished he knew why he was doing this.

   Wished he new what the ever living fuck he was doing.

   “Those webs will dissolve in two hours,” Peter said, taking a step back towards the street.

   “Sure, baby boy,” was all Deadpool said.

   Peter stopped in mid stride and turned back around. Deadpool had just a few short seconds to look terrified before Peter slammed into him, almost knocking by them both over. Deadpool cling to him to stay upright with his feet stuck to the ground. Which worked well for Peter since his plan had been to awkwardly instigate yet another hug. Peter tightened his grip around Deadpool’s chest until the mercenary gave a strangle woof of breath.

   “This is a great impression of an anaconda, Spidey, but I wasn’t expecting to see yours quite this soon.”

   Peter huffed a little laugh, “Be here when I come back tomorrow? Well, not here in this filthy, blood stained alley, but at your apartment.”

   “You’re coming back?” Deadpool gasped.

   Peter nodded against his shoulder, “To keep you out of trouble.”

   ”Aaaaaaaah,” Deadpool squealed far too loud directly into Peter’s ear, “Let’s go to the beach!”

   ”In spandex?” Peter cringed.

   ”What, you don’t enjoy sandpaper around the balls? Ok, what about the fair?”

   ”I can think of so many ways that would become the opposite of lying low,” Peter replied, lifting his head.

   “Look at you, thinking things through, you cute little strategist, you,” Deadpool said, chuffing him under the chin like a puppy.

  Which had the unsettling effect of bringing their faces really close together. For a quick second, Peter felt his heart lurch in his chest and then kick into overtime. The heat of the body he was wrapped around became glaringly obvious wherever it touched his. And the embarrassingly long time since MJ slapped him in the face with a red flag. 

   Peter lurched out of Deadpool’s arms with all of the finesse of an electrified octopus.

   “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? Cool. Tomorrow’s gonna be great.”

   Deadpool had a hand slapped over his mouth, shoulders visibly shaking with silent laughter, before Peter turned away and shot a web, swinging out of the alley.

  Peter was smiling at first, once he got over the initial mortification if whatever had happened at the end there. Swung halfway home with a lightness to his limbs he hadn’t expected to feel.

   Until it occurred to him that Deadpool hadn’t actually promised not to kill himself again that night. That Peter hadn’t ever figured out what had happened. He’d just freaked out, cried all over the mercenary and then set them up to do it all over again the next day. 

   Peter felt sick as he swung over the New York streets just beginning their nightly routines. Breathed in the cool night air’s fumes and hoped he could just get home without being sick. That he wouldn’t have to stop in an alley and puke. That he wouldn’t puke in his mask before he could get to the ground. 

   When he got to his tiny apartment, he crawled in the window and tore his mask off. Then the rest of the suit, the spandex clinging to his skin like spider webs. He finally struggled free of it and stood in the center of the room, holding the wad of fabric in his hands. And staring at the dark wall in front of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! These guys kinda wrote this without me, despite my best efforts. Sorry for the angst.
> 
> Please enter your comment contribution in the little box and let me know what you think.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok! I present to you chapter four! I enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy reading it. Let me know what you think! <3

   Peter woke up to the sound of a waterfall pounding against his window. He stared up at it from his mattress on the floor, chest filled with aimless dread. He was warm beneath his blankets but he knew the air of his tiny apartment would be anything but. He watched the rain pour down the glass of his window, the sky dark and grey beyond it, and wondered if that was where the dread was coming from. Because getting out of a warm bed into a cold apartment was a shit way to wake up.

   He blinked. And then he remembered.

   “Shhhhhit,” he moaned, turning his face into his pillow and taking a deep, calming breath. Or what was supposed to be. But it did nothing to release the vice that had suddenly clamped around his chest. Deadpool had invited him to his apartment yesterday. Which had gone well and then completely to shit in record time.

   Peter lay there and wanted to kick himself. How else had he thought that little visit was going to go? The last time they’d teamed up, he’d been crushed by a building.

   The image of Deadpool smashed like a dropped jar of jelly on the pavement flashed across his eyes in the painful clarity that can only be captured when paired with fear. Heart stopping, gut wrenching terror. Of a man who can’t die, choosing momentary oblivion because of Peter.

   He had so many dead bodies waiting behind his eyes. Far too many.

   He needed space. From all of this.

   And he knew he couldn’t have it. Because he had made a promise. And he couldn’t abandon Deadpool. Not when he knew, had seen with his own eyes, that so many others had abandoned him.

   And Peter determinedly ignores the part of himself that couldn’t stop smiling yesterday, before everything went wrong. That part wanted that time on the Xbox with Deadpool. Eating pizza. Laughing. Talking about the things that he enjoyed talking about. With someone who enjoyed talking with him.

   Peter groaned again and smacked the palms of his hands into his eyes.

  Pizza!? The man killed himself last night because of Peter! And now Peter was regretting possibly not going back because he might miss out on laughs and pizza!?

   “That’s it,” Peter snarled, whipping his blankets off and climbing furiously out of bed.

   Well, mostly furious. Somewhat. Mostly just gangly, awkward staggering because he was definitely not a morning person.

   But he was determined. Frigid apartment air be damned.

   Which is how he found himself riding the subway in jeans and a hoodie with his Spider-Man mask shoved in his pocket. He had the suit in a backpack over his shoulder. Because you never knew. Especially when the on a rattling train headed straight for Deadpool’s apartment. So they could hang out. And hopefully one of them wouldn’t temporarily suicide.

   Fucking hell.

   Peter was twitching. He wanted to crawl the walls. Would have been on the ceiling. But he was on the subway. Because it was raining buckets. The old guy next to him was giving him worried glances. He probably looked like he was experiencing a brush with drugs. Because he felt anxious enough to claw his own skin off.

   He came out of the tunnel onto street level with an audible gasp. Or would have if the city wasn’t drowning.

   Peter ducked his head and peered through the silver sheets of water, making his way to the tired brick faced building huddled amongst a street of other equally exhausted looking structures.

   “Same,” Peter said as he swiped his wet mask over his face.

   “It is good to see you again, Peter.”

   “Hey, Karen,” Peter managed to say.

   “Are you going to see Wade again today?”

   “Ah, Yeah, Yes. That is what I’m doing.”

   “You should tell him how you feel,” Karen said.

   Peter laughed bitterly, “Sure thing, Karen. When I know what that is.”

   “I think you’ll figure it out, Peter,” Karen said in that confident tone of hers, “You’re very smart and very brave.”

   Peter obviously didn’t agree with her, and with how long Karen had been with him, she shouldn’t agree with herself.

   But instead of pointing any of this out, Peter just affectionately said, “Thanks, Karen.”

   And, actually feeling a tiny bit better, Peter began climbing.

 

 

   There wasn’t any answer when he tapped on the window. He waited a minute, shivered by in the rain.

   He was soaked through and the rain had long since waterlogged his mask so he rolled it up to his nose. There was a water filtering system built into the mask, but he couldn’t be bothered. He just wanted it off his face.

   He didn’t hear anything inside the apartment. Which made another wave of anxiety layer itself on top of all the rest.

   What if Deadpool was gone? Peter knew he’d sometimes tear off to distant places to kill bad people for money when he was upset.

   Peter remembered all the yelling he’d done last night. And felt sick. Who yells at a guy that just died!?

   Peter places his hand on the window and tries to wrangle his emotions back in. Tries to find that determination again.

   He nearly falls off the building when a terrifying crashing noise erupts from inside the apartment.

   Peter has the window open before he realizes he’s done it.

   And then he’s staring at Deadpool desperately trying to hold up the flimsy metal bookshelf that has half toppled onto him. Movie and game cases are scattered amongst fast food wrappers and one long dead marijuana plant on the floor like the remains of a crime scene. Peter has a moment of relief that Deadpool saves the Xbox from falling with his knee. Before he realizes Deadpool is staring at him. Frozen.

   Peter’s stomach turns to stone.

   “You ok?” He hears himself ask.

   There is a long awkward pause where Deadpool stares at Peter while Peter shivers half outside the window.

   And then Deadpool seems to click on again.

   The bookshelf slams into the wall with a shuddering bang as Deadpool skips up to the window, “Spidey! Look what the fucking torrential rainstorm swept in. What the hell is with this rain get in here.”

   Peter felt something snag ahold of his hood before he was suddenly tugged inside. He tumbled into a heap on the slightly rain damp carpet beneath Deadpool’s window.

   “So nice of you to swing by, Spidey! Nice threads. Really bring the drowned kitten out in your eyes. It’s just so cute! I had a cat in here once. Shivered just like that. Although that could have been from the gunfire. There were reasons,” Peter was rising slowly to his feet as Deadpool’s rambling devolved into singing, “Just give me a reason, just a little bit’s enough!”

   Peter could feel the tension in his chest snapping tighter. He’d seen Deadpool talk like this before. Aimless. Manic. Peter thought he had about two minutes before things got bad. For both of them.

   “Deadpool,” Peter said, trying to catch the merc’s attention.

   “Reasons! The reasons that we hear! The reasons that we fear! Our feelings won’t disappear, ooh.”

   “Was the cat the one shooting the guns?” Peter said.

   Deadpool paused, arms stretched up dramatically to the ceiling, head thrown back, caught mid shriek.

   “No, the thing was like five pounds soaking wet,” he replied, head straightening and arms lowering, “Although that would have been fucking awesome. Best sidekick ever. Cat’s are the softest, most terrifying things. You ever pissed off a cat, baby boy?”

   Peter thought of a few choice moments with really stressed out cats, “Ah, yeah. Look, Deadpool, I want to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You were obviously going through some stuff and you didn’t need that on top of it. I’m sorry.”

   Deadpool seemed to shuffle for a moment. And then he exploded, “What the ass? The hell are you apologizing to me for? You ate pizza and then waited next to my corpse to give me two hugs! Two! Best damn hugs of my life, you stringy little dental floss of badassness.”

   “Dental floss?” Peter echoed.

   “It’s no problem! Glad my squishy insides being splattered all over my outsides brought you back, baby. I’m just too good to resist!”

   Peter wrapped his arms around his chest for warmth and not because he felt as exposed as a dissected frog.

   “Look, whether you accept it or not, I am sorry. I panicked and reacted horribly. But I showed up today because I was promised the best not sleepover ever. Can we try again? Without the panicking on either of our parts. I, uh, don’t know what either of us could do worse than yesterday. So that takes the pressure off and… yeah. Should be fun?”

   Deadpool seemed to be on pause again and Peter wondered if the number of times Deadpool had been rendered speechless by this one conversation alone was a good sign or not.

   Then, suddenly, the merc let out an ear shattering squeal and clasped his hands to the side of his face. Peter barely managed to stay off the ceiling at the sudden sound.

   “Oh hell yes, spideymuffin. This is going to be better than that time we pulled that taco bus out of the river!”

   “I hope so,” Peter said.

   “Because I’m making the world’s best tacos while you transform those thin little blue lips into the equally thin peachy warm darlings we all know and love. Take off your clothes and let me heat them up!”

   “Woah, Deadpool!”Peter said, throwing out his hands as Deadpool rushed him.

   Deadpool lurched to a stop, palms outstretched and fingers wiggling eagerly, “Gimme.”

   “Uh…” Peter said, “What makes you think I’m going to take my clothes off right here?”

   Deadpool dropped his hands and sighed with his entire body, “Ok… fine.”

   And suddenly Deadpool had snaked his arm through the crook of Peter’s and began dragging him deeper into the apartment.

   “What-“ Peter began before he was unceremoniously shoved into the bathroom and the door slammed behind him.

   “Just leave your clothes by the sink, darling!” He heard Deadpool sing song.

   “Thanks for explaining the plan!” Peter singsonged back as he flicked on the light switch.

   The bathroom wasn’t clean, per say, but he had to admit his bathroom had existed in a similarly tormented state on months when he barely had time to sleep let alone clean.

   But who was he kidding, that was almost every month since he’d moved out. He had been busy when staying with Aunt May, but damn right he made sure to do his part of the chores. You don’t treat people you love like a maid.

   Peter sidled over to the shower and turned it on hot. He felt chilled to the bone and it was almost painful to peel his sopping wet clothes off, because somehow they had been warming him a little. He should have worn his entire suit. It had a heater. A gorgeous, cherished heater.

   But he’d wanted to hang out today, really hang out as much as they could when both of them would be wearing masks.

   Peter stacked his clothes beside the sink and slipped into the deliciously hot water. He heard the door open briefly a few minutes later. Deadpool was singing, “When I’m in the shower, I’m afraid to wash my hair, cause I might open my eyes, and find someone standing there.”

   Peter couldn’t help but snort once the door had closed again. And just like that, he felt a little more relaxed.

   He was smiling when he turned off the shower, water beginning to lose its heat, and found a pile of different clothes sitting by the sink. His boxers, freshly dried, sat atop a large black shirt with the Deadpool logo in red across the front and a pair of red sweats.

   He rolled his eyes and put on the clothes. They were oversized on him, but they were soft and very comfortable and smelled like Deadpool did when his suit had been washed in the last few days.

   He came out of the bathroom craving a warm blanket and a movie. But the door opening brought with it a waft of something that had his stomach immediately growling like Wolverine around loud, obnoxious people like Peter.

   “Oh my god, what is that.”

   “The best damn day of your life, baby boy,” Deadpool said from the kitchen. When Peter came out of the hallway, he was greeted with one of those painfully loud squeals. “Fuck me up the ASS, this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Deadpool said, bracing himself dramatically against the counter like he was about to collapse. Then he bounced upright again and skipped close to Peter. In a hello kitty apron. With frills.

   “Welcome to my parlor, comfy looking spider babe,” he said in a high, happy voice, “Get ready to have your taste buds fondled.”

   Peter followed his frantic gestures at the table and sat on a heavily scarred wooden chair. The table was small and round and stains mottled the floral print.

   Deadpool was chopping lettuce while looking over his shoulder at Peter who cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

   “That apron is cute,” Peter said.

   “Gasp! I fucking told you he’d like it,” Deadpool said aloud before spinning around and striking a pose, “Aw, stop it some more. You should see me when I’m cleaning.”

   Peter flashed back to his glimpse of Deadpool’s closet and the French maid outfit he’d seen.

   “Ah, Yeah, I bet it’s nice,” He squeaked, “Do you want me to help?”

   He reflexively caught the bag of avocados that were suddenly launched at his face.

   “Mash me up some green stuff, baby boy,” Deadpool said in a voice gone sultry.

   Peter couldn’t contain his laughter. He sat there holding the avocados and gasping for breath for a minute before he managed to say, “That is the worst sexy thing anyone has ever said ever.”

   “Oh there’s more where that came from, my little mashy boy,” Deadpool said turning back to his chopping.

   Peter laughed as he casually caught the knife Deadpool threw him, “Please stop. I’m too exhausted to be sexually harassed badly.”

   “But if I do it well, that’s fine. Oh challenge accepted.”

   “No!” Peter said, still smiling, as he began to cut open the avocados, “All sexual harassment is bad.”

   “Unless it’s consensual,” Deadpool replied.

   “Is it still sexual harassment then?”

   Deadpool paused and glanced back at him to stage whisper, “Its called role play. I’ll explain everything when delicate eyes aren’t reading us.”

   “What?” Peter said, before being blindsided by a huge yawn,

   “Damn that rain really took it out of me. I hope I don’t fall asleep on your couch for the rest of the day.”

   Deadpool giggled, grabbing the bag of tomatoes and dumping them on his cutting board, “Sweet Little love ferret, I would feel very ok things if you did that, if you get me. Your ass is a very ok thing for example,” then aside in the tone Peter knew was directed at the boxes,”Of course we’d get consent first. Nothing quite like being admired while sleeping. And then cuddled. This is most common when sleeping in alleys, of course. But we can adapt it to inside purposes. Hobos snuggling partially regenerated corpses for warmth can end pleasantly or…not. TACOS!”

   Peter found his hands stuck to the tablecloth where he’d slammed them down at the sudden shout.

   “Aw,” Deadpool snickered when he turned around, “Kitty’s paws stuck?”

   Peter didn’t feel mad at the teasing. Because Deadpool was dropping bowls and plates onto the table like a card dealer at a casino. And Peter was so goddamned hungry.

   “Oh yes, baby boy,” Deadpool growled, sitting down across from him, “You’re going to enjoy this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Karen ships them. And damn, i’m Craving tacos. 
> 
> Critique is welcome. Comments are craved! Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I needed to dump a fic almost entirely comprised of fluff at all of you lovely people. I apologize. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to tell me about it in the comments section!

 

   Throughly defeated by the greatest tacos he had ever encountered in his remarkably eventful life, Peter finished his last bite of spicy, meaty goodness and groaned.

   “Oh my god,” he said around the bite

   Deadpool grinned around his own mouthful. Together they had managed to send an unholy amount of tacos to the next life. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so much in one sitting outside of Christmas dinner. His stomach hurt. But it hurt so good. Finally, the hunger of a busy, constantly on the edge of broke lifestyle exacerbated by an accelerated super metabolism had finally been driven back.

   Peter pushed his plate aside and lowered his forehead to the table with a solid thunk before slithering bonelessly off his chair and onto the ground. Once there, he arranged himself comfortably on his back on the tile and sighed.

   “I know its not fair to expect it to be that good every time,” Peter said, “But I hope we get to do that again.”

   Deadpool laughed and flopped to the ground as well, taking a taco with him, “Oh I’m always ready for a repeat performance with you, baby boy. Just say the word.”

   Peter looked over at the mercenary with heavy lidded eyes. His body felt sated and happy, far different from the tension before the meal. He was way too easy if a few tacos could make him this calm. Well, way more than a few, but still. Peter closed his eyes as Deadpool finished his taco in three enormous bites.

   “So you plan on us doing this again?” Deadpool’s voice suddenly asked.

   Peter opened his eyes in surprise. He couldn’t quite remember the mercenary’s voice ever having quite that quiet, or… tentative. He was usually as loud and constant as machine gun fire with a disembodied hand curling a death grip around the trigger. This was…Peter didn’t know what this was. So he played it like he hadn’t noticed anything different.

   “Oh yeah, Deadpool,” Peter said, “I wouldn’t say no to being invited back.”

   Deadpool stared at him through the panda mask for a long moment before looking away, “You sure about that, Spidey? I’m not the sweetest thing you’ve got going. I’m not even in the same pyramid. I’m like whatever the rotted leftovers of the vegetable pyramid look like after it washed out of the sewers. I-“

   Peter sat up, resisting the urge to explain how the food pyramid actually worked, “Hey.”

   Deadpool was silent for a moment and then rolled to his feet in one smooth movement of muscle.

   Peter was on his feet after him before he stopped to think about it, placing his hand on Deadpool’s shoulder. Deadpool stopped immediately like Peter had webbed his feet to the floor.

   “Come on, man. I don’t care about that. You know I don’t care about that. And fuck whoever does.”

   Deadpool was silent for a moment and then the panda mask turned to him ever so slightly.

   “You ordering me to fuck the Avengers, baby boy?”

   Peter smirked, “Do whatcha gotta do, Mr. Pool.”

   “A-fucking-men,” Deadpool breathed with considerable feeling and then Peter laughed.

   And just like that, they were back. Back to that glowy, fluttery happy feeling Peter had been hoping for.

 

 

   In hindsight, maybe mentioning the Avengers during their not-sleepover wasn’t so much tempting fate as rolling out a hundred foot red carpet for as not five levels into Lovers in a Dangerous Space Time, Karen suddenly said, “Peter, Mr. Stark is trying to reach you.”

   Stark’s picture flashed up on the display in his mask and Peter set his controller down, “Ah, yeah, go ahead and answer it Karen,” then in a whisper to the mercenary staring at him, “It’s Stark. I gotta- Hey mister Stark! What’s up?”

   “Hey, underoos. You ready to suit up? I’ve got an angry flock of bug themed robots for you to distract.”

   Peter groaned, “Staaaark. Why don’t you make Steve do it.”

   Deadpool gasped and threw himself over Peter like an extremely heavy afghan, “Tell him I said hi! Tell him, Spidey!” Deadpool said.

   “Deadpool says hi,” Peter said quickly to avoid death by peer pressure.

   “Oh, he’s with you?” Stark replied, “Perfect. He’s been ignoring Fury’s calls which means I now have to ignore Fury’s calls, which works out since I always ignore Fury’s calls. Since I’m your handler and somehow along the line that also means I’m also hamburger helper’s, its my job to pull you in when the doomsday cocoon is about to hatch. Look, bring your boyfriend and meet me at my location.”

   “Doomsday cocoon?” Peter echoed.

   The response was the firm click of the call being ended.

   Peter wasn’t too choked up about the rudeness. It was Stark. Peter knew from years of experience the guy legitimately struggled with maintaining social niceties. Plus, Peter couldn’t be blamed for being distracted as he currently found himself in possession of a lap full of two hundred pound mercenary.

   “Doomsday cocoon? What the fuck yes!” Deadpool was saying as he straddled Peter’s thighs and threw his arms up in the air. Peter almost reached out to grab Deadpool’s waist, worried the merc was going to enthusiastically topple right off the couch. But Peter firmly reminded himself he currently had a lethal killing machine perched on his lap who wasn’t likely to really even notice a fall like that. And Peter firmly kept his hands to himself.

   “Yeah you’re invited. Robot bugs, apparently,” Peter said, slipping out from between Deadpool’s thighs and flipping over the back of the couch. Moving out of the mercenary’s proximity made him shiver with a chill. Wow, Deadpool put off some serious heat.

   Shrugging that strangely uncomfortable thought away, Peter hurried into the bathroom, snagging his bag from the back of the chair at the table containing the graveyard remains of the great taco massacre.

   As he slipped his feet into the boots of the suit and began the hideously awkward hop into it that he’d never managed to stop doing, Peter could hear Deadpool squealing about Thor’s everything in his bedroom. Peter finally got the suit on and smacked his palm against his chest to tighten the suit and realized he had a huge grin on his face.

   Of course he did. He was taking Deadpool with him to an Avengers mission. Deadpool understood battles. Got that they always worked out better with a running commentary.

   Well, maybe not always, Peter amended with a wince.

   He came out of the bathroom to Deadpool, still in his room, floor scattered with clothes and hands smacked against his head in despair.

   “Deadpool?” Peter said, suddenly worried.

   “Kittens of the world unite, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Wade?!” Deadpool responded with a vigorous two-handed slap to his own thighs.

   Peter grinned at Deadpool’s glare, “ Just once more, Miss Swan.”

   Deadpool sputtered and chopped a hand in his direction as if displaying Peter to an invisible audience, “Can you believe this fucking cupcake? I know, right? Now we have no choice but to get together. That’s right, get your fucking popcorn, you pervs.”

   Peter glanced between Deadpool and the wall of the bedroom and then said, “So, what’s going on. You ok?”

   Deadpool’s head snapped back around, “Is everything ok? You bet your sweet ass its not. And you know why, hollandaise? Because Thor fucking Odinson is in town and I know you didn’t know I knew that! You were just going to let me walk in there without any mascara like a terrible friend,” then his voice went small and broken, “How could you?”

   Peter twitched awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to do with his arms before settling on crossing them over his chest, “Uh, I thought that you look great with your usual look. And I didn’t want you to panic and look like you were trying too hard?”

   There was a long pause.

   Then Peter was being suffocated in firm red pecs again while Deadpool squealed and twirled him around by his head, “You are the best human sized spider person I have ever had. I’m gonna keep you in a box under my bed and feed you puppies after midnight every night so you can evolve to be big and strong!”

   Peter used a bit of his super strength to get free of those powerful arms, pulling in a desperate gasp, “Not a Pokémon!”

   Deadpool answered to this by giggling and patting his cheek indulgently.

   “So you ready to go? We’re going to miss the cocoon hatching,” Peter reminded.

   “I knoooow,” Deadpool groaned, slapping his hands against his face again. Aaaaand they were back to where they started.  
Peter looked around at the chaos of fabric on the floor, “I think what we need is just something nice but, uh, understated. Like this!”

   He reached down and snatched up an object from the pile.

   One red hand lifted ever so slightly from the panda mask to peek at what Peter had selected and then Peter couldn’t help but grin triumphantly at the happy sigh he earned for his efforts as Deadpool snatched the severely cropped leather jacket with the bedazzled pink tiger on the back out of Peter’s hands.

   Peter had remembered this jacket. Thought it really accented the mercenary’s figure. Peter made a mental note to get the jacket to safety before the battle started. Deadpool would be crushed to have a robot bug spit acid on it or something but usually was too excited before a fight to think about anything besides jabbering constantly at everyone and somehow making very helpful adjustments to their strategy. The guy was definitely talented at what he did. Only people at their most snobbish could deny it with a straight face. But he could also be as scatterbrained as a cat trying to catch thirty rabid ferrets at once in a field of catnip.

   The jacket confidently donned, Deadpool strutted across the narrow confines of the bedroom, “Tell me about it, stud.”

   Peter laughed and walked past Deadpool to the window. He slid it open and once he was on the fire escape, he turned back, held out his hand and started singing, “I got chiiiiilllls. They’re multiplying.”

   Deadpool somehow danced energetically onto the fire escape without braining himself on the window frame and attached himself to Peter’s back like a particularly enthusiastic tree frog.

   Peter swung out into the city to the sound of, “You better shape up! Cuz I need a man!” Bellowed into his ear.

   Many sets of eyes followed the two maniacs swinging loudly through the city.

   And damn did they look good doing it. 


End file.
